


Deers For Sport

by ilovecharles



Series: Just Friends [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Mini, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 02:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20649617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovecharles/pseuds/ilovecharles
Summary: A mini-fic request from @cupcakecontour on tumblr. This will be part of a series on here, each chapter with a different ending on who wins you over.





	Deers For Sport

His eyes followed your every move as you worked. Each bounce of your feathery hair, the rhythm of your delicate fingers, the swaying of your rounded hips with each step you took towards him. His heart pounded a panicked beat from beneath his prickled skin as you approached, bowl of hot stew perched across your palm, a freshly brewed coffee mug in the other. 

He smiled sincerely as you placed the bowl on his lap, returning the genuine smile before sauntering off to serve the others as they completed their mundane chores - always thinking about others: a trait that he had always admired deeply about you, among a catalogue of many others. 

Throughout all of this, he simply couldn’t remove his gaze from you as you chopped away at more vegetables; the sharp knife inching uncomfortably close to your delicate skin with each slam down against the wood of the chopping board. The anxiety was unbearable, and he silently prayed your beautiful frail fingers would remain intact before he m entally scolded himself for being so protective over a grown woman, but also for the feelings he had tried, and failed, to suppress.

After all, for the past few months, being so protective towards you became his nature - part of his makeup - and two other men at camp gave him good reason for it. With that thought his eyes sharpened into cautious slits, like the eyes of a sly snake about to catch its scurrying prey, and he drifted his gaze to the men in question. Each had their eyes planted on you, and he followed their line of sight to the curves of your body as his blood began to boil. Unlike him, other men rarely saw you for anything other than your looks. Your empathetic generosity, strong-will, many talents, beauty and charm - he took note of all of them, favouring each moment he caught a glimpse. 

His mind wandered briefly as the stew on his lap cooled below him. He secretly liked to pretend you didn’t share a tent because you were close friends, or because you often hunted together and got back to camp late - you shared it because you were meant to be together in one way or another. The possibility that it could lead somewhere so beautiful gave him hope; if only briefly. Whether you even felt the same way back was still unknown. What if he confesses and it pushes you away? Into the arms of one of the others? Was it worth the risk of your friendship? Maybe you’d feel betrayed, like this whole time his aim was to get you in bed with him? No, it wasn’t worth it. 

“Friend. Not lover.” He reminded himself under his breath with a solemn sigh, inaudible to those around him. The mantra brought a silent sorrow to his mind as he lifted the spoon to his mouth, pushing the bitter broth to the back of his throat to avoid its taste. Afterwards, he threw the bowl to the side of the fire, along with the other dirtied dishes, before making his way back to your shared tent - praying you’d return soon too. 

Charles 

The field is surrounded by towering pine trees that stand proudly against the slight breeze that blows past. Every few moments, a hare pops their ears up from the foliage, prowling any potential predators, before ducking back down only to pounce off from the plains. Small chirps resonating from the blue skies above before flying off ahead to the high hills, each bird uniquely decked with an array of bright feathers in all colours of the rainbow. 

Despite all of the gifts Mother Nature has to offer him, Charles can only focus on you. Admiring the weather, horticulture and agriculture can wait - admiring the beautiful woman before him cannot. Each movement you make stuns him, things that he wouldn’t pay even the slightest amount of attention to a few months ago now make his heart jolt like a doe from a predator. 

As if sensing his prolonged stare, you look back at him. Only when you do, his head quickly looks ahead, the sudden swaying of his long hair against his shoulders giving him away. “There’s your target.” He whispers nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t been admiring your silhouette without your knowledge. You take the opportunity to gaze appreciatively along the spine of the hawk feather curled around the black flowing strands of his hair as they follow the winds direction. If only your vocabulary was colourful enough to describe his picturesque perfection. The sharp curves of his jaw were shaded over slightly by the blunt blades of his growing facial hair despite you carefully shaving his face only the night before. 

Your attention darts back to the deer ahead as it grazes peacefully on the green grass blades, thin dainty legs propping it up centre of the field in your line of sight. A sliver of doubt etches your thoughts. “What if I miss?” You whisper. Charles comforts you with a calm grin - your best friends encouragement was never exactly vocal, so you sighed and swallowed any worries before aligning your eyes upon the target and signalling a slight whistle with your mouth to catch its attention. A split second passes where you read to the leather quiver situated on your back, bringing out a handcrafted arrow and placing it upon the bows strings. One of your eyes squints slightly to focus your line of vision more accurately upon the sudden exposure of the deers skull. Your finger releases upon the bows string and the arrow flys forward at lightening pace towards your target, meeting the tough skin of its neck instead of its head. The poor animal falls to the floor in agony, screaming.

You look at Charles beside you, disappointed with the outcome of your archery skills. “Its only your first attempt, ____. A great one too. You actually shot it.” He explains, pushing himself up to his feet from his squatting position behind the large rock before you both. You take his hand willingly as he offers it out to help you up, his large rough fingers intertwining with your own. 

Charles takes the lead on approaching the animal and he gestures at the bow resting in your hand, signalling for you to end the animals suffering. The strange cries from the animal ring in your ears and you silently beg for it to stop, knowing full well the only way to end its misery is to close the gap between your arrows and the deers head.

Only, when you lift the bow up to take your shot, you can’t bring yourself to do it. Your mind travels back to your early childhood, around 6 or 7, when you were pressured by the other children to smash a large rock atop a dying rabbit. The cries were all too similar to the ones that invaded your thoughts right now and the blood in your body grows cold at the memory. Many nights you’d awoken in a similar cold sweat, the cries of pain still ringing in your ears long after you’d awoken. 

Cold sweat and panicked thuds against your rib cage invade your senses and your drop the bow from the overload. The screeches sting at your bubbling blood and sweat begins to form against your skin with anxiety. “____? What’s wrong?” Charles questions, his eyes lifting from the crying deer and widening in a deep concern at your state. You try to reply, but your breaths become hitched and uneven with panic, as if you’re unable to breath. Instead you settle for a shake of your head towards the deer, notifying Charles that you’re unable to kill the poor creature. 

Your vision by now is clouding over by your lack of breath, and flashes of both the deer before you and the rabbit from your past trespass your mind. Silence takes over the empty field as Charles aims an arrow at the deer, meeting it between the eyes and finally killing your prey. Almost right away Charles let’s go off the bow and it drops to the ground with a muted thud, his arms are clutching at your shoulders, bringing you towards his large barrelled chest to comfort you as he manoeuvres your body to face away from the fresh carcass. You grip at the fabric of his shirt for comfort as your mind tries to regain control.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Charles cooed, hushing you patiently as your breath slowly regains itself. “Calm.” His tone is soothing yet secure, and you feel safe pressed against him at such as vulnerable moment. His fingers rub in small circles at your back, soothing you whilst you try to manage your breathing - and it works. Your constricted chest releases it’s tight hold of your crushed ribs and you take deep breaths, filling your lungs with cool fresh air. 

Charles pulls back slightly, one hand moving up to lift your chin upwards, your worried eyes now meeting his. “What’s the matter?” He questions soothingly, his eyes searching yours for answers as his hand gently pulls a loose strand of escaped hair back between the nook of your ear. You return the favour by doing the same, tucking a jet black lock back in place. He hums appreciatively at the gesture. 

“Just a stupid childhood memory.” You manage a weak smile, attempting to brush of the situation. “I’m okay now.” He nods delicately at your calm response, wiping away the drying tears from your cheeks with the rough pad of his finger. 

You become hyperaware suddenly of his arms wrapped around you so close, and the proximity of your faces, only inches apart. Your eyes drift downwards pleadingly to his cushioned parted lips. Charles own eyes locked with yours as they admired his features. His heart told him to jump head first and kiss you with all the passion he’d had stored, but his head told him to stay patient, wait for an obvious signal as to not push you away. 

Maybe it was the vulnerability of your raw emotional state, or maybe it was an inevitable reaction from both parties, but you slowly tilted your lips to meet - and when they did, it was magical. He tasted like coffee and firewood, warm and welcoming. Not even a thousand medalled soldiers could hold you back from pressing yourself desperately against his chest, clinging to the fabric of his shirt like a saving grace. His own thick finger did the same, flirting with the embroidered buttons upon your blouse to expose your chest. A moan escapes your lips at the relief of lust, from none other than the man you’d dreamt about secretly for months past. His own thoughts followed the same trail, grateful he didn’t have to make the first move. He could never forgive himself if he made you uncomfortable, or ruined your friendship. So maybe taking things so far so soon wasn’t the best idea?

The worrying thought flashed through his mind momentarily before he hastily reminded himself that you’d kissed back. No - you still are kissing back.

“_____.” He mumbled against your lips, tugging himself slightly away from the heated kiss. His eyes are dark and thoughtful, but thankfully calm and composed. “P-Pearson. The deer.” He managed through his baited breaths as his eyes fought to tear themselves away from the newly exposed cleavage within his view.

You hurriedly nod, adjusting your crumpled shirt and tucking back any escaped hair from your braids. His eyes follow the quick movements of your fingers as they button back up your blouse to conceal your dignity and it takes all of his strength pursed together to not rip the blouse back open. Instead he turns around and bends down to the carcass, lifting its weight to rest against his shoulder as he walks back to a calmly hitched Taima, whom grazed delicately upon the blades of fresh emerald brush at her feet. 

Your own attention caught on the tensed muscles of his thick arms as they pulled the worn leather restraints of the saddle to firmly clutch tonight’s dinner in place. He turns and offers a large hand to assist you on mounting the horse and you oblige my sliding your own soft palm to meet his. Only, instead of climbing upon the steel supporting stirrups, you take a step towards the broody man and plant a chaste kiss against his swollen lips. His cheeks burn more than before because something about that kiss promised there’d be many, many more to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr @i-love-charles!


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